Contemplations
by Gimli's Pickaxe
Summary: 'There is something profound in watching what you could never hope to be.' Erestor contemplates Glorfindel, and Glorfindel contemplates Erestor. Two short pieces on a legendary friendship.
1. Erestor's Musings

_Disclaimer : My last name is not Tolkien. I'm not British either. :D_

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There is something profound in watching what you could never hope to be. Sure, it can be depressing; since it is kind of like looking up a tall tree at a forbidden fruit you couldn't hope to reach in your wildest dreams. But it can also be entertaining and... well, simply put, intriguing. Intriguing, like the first step into an uncharted piece of land. Once you're in, there's no way to back out without being touched in some way or the other.

That is why Erestor watches Glorfindel.

Glorfindel is everything Erestor isn't. Erestor is slim; while Glorfindel is built completely of solid, shapely muscle. Erestor's hair is ramrod-straight and black. Glorfindel's falls down his back in waves of burnished gold. Erestor is quiet, with a scathing, sharp sense of humour. Glorfindel isn't loud, but he is amiable, easygoing, and he loves to chat. Erestor is serious about everything. Glorfindel hardly ever is. And some of the more base, deeper things. Things that don't show upon the first glance.

They are as different as night and day; perhaps even more so. Complete opposites. Apparently, opposites really do attract.

Erestor just can't keep his eyes off the golden captain. On the training grounds, out walking in the gardens, laughing at the dinner table, singing to the stars, strolling, stretching, dancing, that certain twinkle in his eyes. His eyes, that have seen so much, ancient eyes that somehow still retain the glimmer of youthful mischief in them.

And he notices some things.

For one, Glorfindel is a lot more than he lets on. To anyone seeing him for the first time, he doesn't seem like much : an indulgent, merry jokester, glittering, charming, harmless, a pretty thing to be admired – but also one that has never known the harder aspects of life, one that will shatter upon the barest hint of hardship. But Erestor has ever been perceptive, so he sees.

He sees that look Glorfindel gets when he thinks his loved ones are threatened. That one time the mountain orcs had actually planned ahead and thought that taking some Imaldrian elves as hostages was a good idea, for one. He saw the feral gleam in the captain's eyes, the low-pitched voice almost silken soft, felt the way the air seemed to crackle with barely contained power. This was Imaldris's captain of the guard, an elf he had known for almost centuries. But at that moment, Erestor was terrified. And he knew Glorfindel for who he really was.

He sees how Glorfindel lets his smile drop when he thinks no one is looking. He sees Glorfindel bury his face in his hands and let his shoulders shake with supressed tears. He sees Glorfindel, standing as if captivated in the gardens, feet fixred in front of a yellow flowering bush – a painful reminder of his past life. Everyone knows Glorfindel to be strong. He is like a bulwark of strength, a stout wall that will hold Imaldris together through rain or through storm. He is their Hero.

But Erestor knows that Glorfindel can also be weak. And so he respects him all the more for it. For Erestor has no respect for those who know nothing but competence and success. Those who do not know what it is to fail.

Erestor is sharp. Very sharp. And so little surprises him, but somehow, Glorfindel manages to surprise him every time. Erestor will never forget the day he saw the Legendary Lord of the Golden Flower covered from head to toe in mud, white teeth sparkling in the sun as he laughed, three giggling elflings snug in his arms.

Nor will he ever forget that time Glorfindel managed to switch his entire wardrobe into a carnival troupe's dressing room. Many eyebrows were raised that fateful day, that day when the spotless chief councillor showed up to the daily meetings dressed in a sunflower-yellow outfut of fine velvet, blaring red bells jingling about his ankles, wrists and neck. Well, Glorfindel will just have to be very careful from now on. Erestor never forgets – nor does he forgive easily. One of these days... Who knew how childish ancient elf-lords could get?

Anyway, Glorfindel definitely spices up Erestor's life, for the better or for worse, and Erestor often finds himself watching the jolly elf with an indulgent smile upon his face. And somehow, at some point, Erestor finds that he is actually fond of the silly thing. (Much to his dismay.)

Over the years, that fondness grows into something more – and Erestor finds himself a lifelong friend. One day, he realizes that he would gladly lay his own life down for Glorfindel, and this scares him. He imagines throwing himself between a charging orc and his friend, and shakes his head, because, well, that is just about as far from typical Erestor as anyone could get. But he also knows that he _will_ do it. Not that Glorfindel would ever need that particular service anyway. Glorfindel makes Erestor _feel_, and that is definitely a scary thing. Even scarier than Glorfindel when he is angry. Oh, the terror of it.

Erestor had never imagined that he would find himself a friend, of all things. It really is absurd, the whole thing. But if anyone asked Erestor if he truly minded, the answer would be _no_.

And, well, it would surprise a great number of elves, but Erestor is surprised himself, so he does not have much to say about that. And what can one elf do? The Valar work in strange and mysterious ways – sometimes, all one can do is simply accept.

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A/N : If anyone had been waiting for updates on 'Let Them Say We Have Loved' (though I don't dare to hope for that) - I apologize for the longish wait. :( I got a part-time job, then my neck started hurting like crazy and I had to visit the hospital, then Pippin gave me the writer's block, then my muse settled upon Glorfindel and Erestor... Well, you must forgive me : those two are just so good together.

This is a two-part story. The first part is Erestor thinking about Glorfindel and the second part is Glorfindel thinking about Erestor. Surprisingly for me I have both parts written already! (but they are kind of rough and unrefined, as I wrote it all in one go. I was excited... couldn't help myself. :D)

But I wanted to know what you all thought before updating the second part, and that is why this story is not a oneshot.

My apologies for the needlessly long author's note. It's quite late where I live, and I am sleepy, and I am rambling...

It's not a great piece by any stretch of the imagination, but hope you all enjoyed it!


	2. Glorfindel's Musings

Quick A/N : _A big thank you for all those who have read this story (and favorited it - thank you so much!) _

_The second and final part of this extra-short story : enjoy. :D_

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Erestor is an elf of many talents.

He carries an entire library in his head, and it is nigh impossible to find some subject he does not know at least something about. He can cut into any argument at any time and leave both sides reeling. His script is flowing and elegant and puts half the scribes' to shame. His appearance is immaculate, nary a hair out of place, every word out of his mouth carefully thought-out, clear, concise, and to the point.

Above all else, he has a sense of humor. A droll, sharp, sacrastic tongue, that is more often than not turned towards himself. And while Glorfindel is often sent into fits of laughter by Erestor's jokes, that doesn't mean that he always appreciates that self-deprecating humour. Because, well, as far as Glorfindel is concerned, Erestor doesn't have that much to be deprecating about.

He's never told anyone else, but Erestor was the first thing Glorfindel saw upon riding into Imaldris.

It had been a long ride from Lindon and Imaldris, and as Glorfindel had been quite curious about Earendil's heir, he hadn't spared any time. But, surprisingly, once he got there – Elrond wasn't the one that caught his eyes. It was Erestor.

Glorfindel still remembers as if it were yesterday. That dark, slight elf, slim and ramrod-straight, standing half in the shadows and half in the sunlight, stern lips quirked half-upwards as if in amusement. The moment Glorfindel saw him, he wanted to befriend him. No, not love at first sight – but camaraderie at first sight, perhaps. If there is such a thing.

Glorfindel rarely fails anything he set his mind to. This time he sets his mind to learning as much about Erestor as he can. And learn he does.

Glorfindel learns that Erestor is perhaps the most warmhearted resident in all of Imaldris. Contary to popular belief, Erestor does have a heart, and a rather big one at that. What Erestor doesn't have is – deception. He feels with his heart, not his face, and he does not school his face with conscious effort. He honors each and every emotion, solemn, serious, true. Glorfindel thinks that perhaps of all the elves of this new age, Erestor is the only one who truly know how to – well, _feel_. That is why he wants to bang his head against the wall every time Erestor jokingly refers to himself as the 'heartless one'. Because he knows it to be false, and surprisingly, exasperatingly, Erestor doesn't.

And in addition to that – Erestor constantly surprises Glorfindel with his intelligence. Glorfindel is no fool, of course. He wouldn't have been made Lord of his house so long ago if he had been one. But he had always thought that his own strength lay in his heart and his sword rather than his brain. He had never looked down on thinkers, but they had never impressed him the way a brilliant weaponsmaster could. Erestor changes all that.

He watches brilliant ideas, so concise, so clear, so blaringly simple that it is almost beautiful, take flight under frenzied strokes of Erestor's quill. To every problem, Erestor has a solution. There is nothing Erestor does not understand. Once, Glorfindel had brought a garbled report by some inebriated border tradesman to Erestor, exasperated beyond belief. Scant minutes later, Glorfindel received a renewed version of it, main points written across the top in red ink, clear and oh-so-easy to understand. Glorfindel had gaped, Erestor had smirked, and Glorfindel realized that intellect can be beautiful too.

Glorfindel watches Erestor constantly. It may seem a little creepy, but, well, how can one learn about another without watching? This is how he learns about most of Erestor's small and intriguing quirks.

Such as the way he always wears forest-green robes on mondays, or how he twines violets into his braids every midsummer's eve. How he uses lavender tea to wake up and peppermint tea to fall alseep. How his left eye twitches minutely whenever he's feeling grouchy.

Erestor is a treasure, and so when Glorfindel calls Erestor by the name of friend and Erestor smiles back, Glorfindel knows that he must be the happiest elf in all of Arda.

Glorfindel likes many things about Erestor, but what he likes most is this : with Erestor, Glorfindel can be weak.

Even legends have their rainy days. Glorfindel knows Erestor hates it when his robes are soiled. That is why he smiles against Erestor's shouler, the fine velvet wet from tears and a handkerchief held against his red-rimmed eyes, and knows that he is loved.

And all is well with his world.


End file.
